


The Beauclair Charity Gala

by sleepyxcoffee



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:28:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28406265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepyxcoffee/pseuds/sleepyxcoffee
Summary: “Geralt,” Eskel said through the earpiece, “we have a problem.”“What is it?” Geralt asked, stepping out of the main hall into a corridor. The opulently decorated corridor was lined with paintings worth more than Geralt’s yearly salary, manned by tall, imposing security guards as potential buyers ooh’ed and aah’ed appropriately.“De la Tour thinks someone’s smuggled in a griffin.”
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge: Secret Santa (TWFFSS20)





	The Beauclair Charity Gala

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unsealie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsealie/gifts).



> [](https://imgbb.com/)

“Geralt,” Eskel said through the earpiece, “we have a problem.”

Geralt stifled a groan. Anna Henrietta’s events were bearable because he was well-paid and compensated with good food by the kitchen staff at the end. Best of all, she rarely had trouble. Anna Henrietta was notoriously strict, and trouble rarely made it through the front doors. Trouble even more rarely reached  _ him _ \- he was a witcher, after all, and most issues were easily handled by her own private security.

“What is it?” Geralt asked, stepping out of the main hall into a corridor. The opulently decorated corridor was lined with paintings worth more than Geralt’s yearly salary, manned by tall, imposing security guards as potential buyers ooh’ed and aah’ed appropriately.

“De la Tour thinks someone’s smuggled in a griffin.”

Geralt stopped in his tracks. “ _ What? _ ” He glanced around, as though half expecting a full grown griffin to spring out at him from behind a curtain. A griffin? How was that even physically possible? Surely somebody would have noticed.

“A baby,” Eskel clarified. “He wants us to get it out quick, before anybody else notices. It’s in the men’s room on the mezzanine. His men will find the smuggler. Meet me there?”

“Yeah.” Geralt switched off the receiver on his earpiece and hurried out of the corridor, brushing past guests and staff alike. It wasn’t the first year he and Eskel had been brought on as extra security for the Beauclair Charity Gala (they were a bit of a buy one get one deal, after all), but it was certainly the first year somebody had smuggled in a griffin.

Most years, all he had to do was glare at particularly handsy guests until they left the wait staff alone, or escort out visitors who had had one too many drinks. The most eventful thing that had ever happened at one of the galas was the year he and Eskel had chased down a particularly stupid thief who thought he could get away with pickpocketing Cecillia Bellante, the famous singer and one of Anna Henrietta’s biggest donators. That certainly was not the same level as a griffin in the men’s room.

Geralt rounded the corner and, as soon as he was out of the party area, sprinted through Toussaint’s grandest hotel. His fancy leather dress shoes clacked against the marble tiling as Geralt ran up an unnecessarily extravagant staircase. Geralt took a sharp turn at the top of the stairs and ran along the mezzanine, skidding to a stop next to a polished mahogany door with an elaborate engraving of a man.

To his dismay, he could hear complete and utter chaos inside. There was what sounded like objects breaking, Eskel shouting, and a griffin shrieking. Sighing, Geralt opened the door - and came face to face with a small scale disaster.

Eskel was lying on the ground in his suit, grasping at the griffin’s tail as it shrieked and clawed at the ground, trying to get away from him. Its wings beat furiously as it struggled to take off. Around them were several broken vases scattered around the room, a slashed pipe spraying water everywhere, and a cracked toilet seat lying on the floor.

“Geralt!” Eskel shouted. With one particularly powerful tug, the griffin freed itself of him and clambered onto a stall. Geralt hastily closed the door behind him as the griffin perched itself securely. It spread its wings in a rather adorable threat display and snarled at them.

The griffin was tiny. It was clearly newly hatched, barely able to beat its wings, much less fly. Its white down was as fluffy as sheep wool, and its soft looking feet had small, dog-like claws. From head to tail, it was no longer than a beagle. A beagle with wings and a beak, perhaps, but a beagle nonetheless.

“We can’t kill it,” Geralt breathed.

“No,” Eskel agreed. “Griffins are rare enough as it is. We need to give this one to a sanctuary.”

“Anna Henrietta won’t have us carting a feral griffin around the hotel,” Geralt pointed out.

“I have tranquiliser darts in the car.” Standing up, Eskel dusted himself off. “Can you keep an eye on the griffin?” Geralt nodded, and Eskel ducked out of the bathroom, leaving Geralt alone with a small, feral monster. It hissed at Geralt and leapt off the stall, wings spread and back claws extended.

Swiftly, Geralt dodged to the side. It missed him completely and instead crashed into the mirror behind him, shattering it. Geralt winced. “Seven years’ bad luck,” he muttered. Shrieking, the griffin tried to leap at Geralt again, except it fell short and crashed into a potted plant. Geralt grimaced as the pot fell over and shattered. He hoped Anna Henrietta wouldn’t hold the repair costs against him.

“Come on, Eskel, hurry up,” Geralt muttered as he stepped out of the griffin’s way. It was crawling furiously at him, snapping its beak and hissing. He was quite sure that it was too young to cause  _ him _ any real harm, but it was certainly large enough and chaotic enough to cause the room considerable damage.

As if on cue, the baby griffin whipped around and jumped at a window. Predictably, it bounced off it without leaving a scratch - although, in the process, its tail caught on a painting and toppled it. The painting bounced off the griffin’s head, the glass of the frame shattering, and Geralt winced sympathetically.

Then, nightmare of nightmares - Geralt heard a pair of voices approaching outside.

For a moment, he froze, horrified. Springing into action, Geralt ran out the door and slammed it shut behind him, standing at attention outside. There was still the faint sound of thudding and crashing inside.

A pair of men, both middle-aged, balding, and portly, emerged around the corner, laughing as they approached. Geralt straightened and tilted his head respectfully. “Sirs. I’m afraid this toilet is currently unavailable.”

One of the men, wearing a horrendous paisley tie, scoffed. “Rubbish! It was working just fine earlier!”

“There was an… incident.” Inside, something broke. The other man frowned.

“What’s going on?”

Geralt cleared his throat. “The… repairmen. They’re fixing a leak.” The griffin quieted down, and Geralt relaxed. Perhaps it was finally settling down.

“Some leak it must be. Come, Horace, we can file a complaint with Miss Henrietta after the party.” The men turned around, ready to leave. Suddenly, the griffin crashed into the other side of the door, and Geralt nearly fell over with the force of it. The door shuddered violently, and the griffin fell with a loud thump, hissing. The men spun around, spluttering with their eyes wide.

Geralt struggled to keep a straight face. “The repairmen must be, ah, struggling. Please, gentlemen, there’s a men’s room downstairs.” Muttering to themselves, the men slowly turned back to the stairs and hurried away.

Sighing in relief, Geralt waited until he heard their footsteps fade away, then slipped back into the bathroom. Inside, the griffin was curled up in a corner, hissing angrily. Geralt gave it a sympathetic look and crouched down next to it.

“Sorry there, little one. How’d you end up here anyway? Can’t be nice to be stuck in a room. We’ll get you to a sanctuary, yeah, me and Eskel.” The griffin blinked dolefully at Geralt, and for a moment, Geralt relaxed. Then it spat at him. Grimacing, Geralt wiped off the spittle.

Behind him, Eskel chuckled. Geralt looked over his shoulder. “When did you get here?”

“Been here long enough to hear you talking to that griffin. You its daddy now?” Grinning, Eskel lifted up a tranquiliser gun. “Out of the way.”

Geralt stood and stepped aside. Eskel took aim with the gun and fired. His dart flew true, embedding itself in the griffin’s side. It shrieked, batting its wings and running in circles. Without ceremony, it collapsed, its fluffy little tail twitching.

“Great,” Geralt said. “Now what do we do with the griffin?”

The two witchers stood there for a moment, staring at the baby griffin napping on the floor of a bathroom in Touissant’s grandest hotel.

Then they started laughing.

Eskel bent over, guffawing, as Geralt struggled to catch his breath. He turned to Eskel in disbelief, a grin stretched across his face. “We’re two fully trained witchers,” Geralt said, “and we’ve just knocked out a baby griffin.” Eskel shook his head and slung his arm over Geralt’s shoulder.

“Yes, we did,” Eskel said. Chuckling, he placed a kiss on Geralt’s lips. “I’d say we did quite well, wouldn’t you?”


End file.
